


Lies & Other Word Scrambles

by MsCaptainWinchester (rons_pigwidgeon)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Office, Blow Jobs, Castiel (Supernatural) Works in an Office, Dean in Panties, Drinking & Talking, Escort Dean Winchester, M/M, Office Party, racism (brief)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 02:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rons_pigwidgeon/pseuds/MsCaptainWinchester
Summary: Castiel must suffer through an office social event after his boss threatens his job if he doesn't attend. Thankfully, a flirtatious 'intern' is there to help.





	Lies & Other Word Scrambles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Tropefest Midwinter 5k.
> 
> Thank you to shaes_bae for betaing this one!

Cas is comparing two 13x19 glossy prints when a knock at his door interrupts him. He lowers them to find the CEO of the company, Dick Roman, standing in his doorway with his usual bland, pleasant smile. Castiel isn’t fooled by it. He has watched Roman reduce an intern to a sobbing mess wearing that smile. He drops the prints back onto his immaculate desk and stands. “Good afternoon, sir,” he says.

Roman waves away his formality with a lazy hand, the other resting against Castiel's door frame. “No need to be so serious, Castiel. I’ve just come in to check on how things are going. Do you have a minute?”

As if he could say so if he didn’t. Castiel plasters a bland smile of his own on his face and nods, taking his seat once more. “Of course. Please, come in.”

Roman walks over and picks up one of the ads Castiel was comparing. “Bit dark, don’t you think?” he asks with tilt of his head.

Castiel keeps his breath under control and doesn’t clench his jaw despite his annoyance. “Ruby Slippers has put an emphasis on wanting to diversify their campaign,” he explains in a calm, patient voice.

Roman gives the ad a last critical look before shrugging and dropping it back in place. He leans against Castiel’s desk in a loose stance, arms crossed over his chest. “Are you happy here, Castiel?”

The hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck raise up. “Of course, sir. Why do you ask?”

“My assistant informed me that you haven’t RSVP’d for tomorrow night.” He raises himself higher so that he is almost sitting on the desk. “In fact, she informed me that you have not attended a social engagement with us in the five years you’ve been with the company. It has me wondering if perhaps you don’t like us.” His mouth quirks up on one side as if teasing, but Castiel can see the fangs underneath.

“Of course not, sir. I enjoy working with everyone on the team.”

“Then what gives? You don’t like parties?”

Castiel doesn’t have an answer. He can’t tell the CEO of the company that he thinks most of the senior staff are bigoted, racist, misogynistic assholes, and he would rather stab himself in the throat than spend five minutes in their company. So he feigns embarrassment and lies. Spectacularly. “I’m six years sober. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone at the company because I didn’t want my past to reflect poorly on my work. I’ve been avoiding the social gatherings so that I wouldn’t be tempted.”

Roman’s bland expression doesn’t change. “How admirable of you. But surely after six years, one night near alcohol won’t send you back into the bottle.” He gets to his feet, clapping once as if to force enthusiasm onto Castiel. “Come now, I expect you at the party. If not, we will have to talk about what you want your place in this company to be on Monday.”

His place in the company. Castiel mentally sighs, but makes his face smile a flat, complacent smile. “I’ll be there, sir.”

“Excellent. I look forward to seeing you there.” He knocks once on Castiel’s desk in confirmation, and then walks out, leaving Castiel to slump miserably into his seat. How could he have lied so stupidly? He could have said he’s an introvert. He could have said he takes his dementia-ridden grandmother to bingo on Friday nights. He could have said a number of perfectly reasonable things that aren’t exploitative of people with addiction or an obvious lie that will take Dick Roman five minutes to see through. He curses under his breath and begins to mentally prepare himself for this disaster of a party.

 

* * *

 

Castiel regrets his lie ten-fold as he steps into the night club the next night. Telling his boss he is a recovering alcoholic means that he is going to have to face this party completely sober. He steels himself by adjusting his tie and walks in, staying close to the wall in hopes that he won’t be noticed. There are enough people milling about the private space that it isn't a difficult task to accomplish.

He spots Balthazar at the bar chatting up a pretty young woman Castiel doesn’t recognize, a martini sloshing in his hand. Balthazar holds out his olive for her, and she takes it off the toothpick with her teeth. Cas is shocked by the boldness of the act. She must be an intern to be that open.

He looks around and notices a lot more attractive young people in attendance than he would have expected. He hadn’t realized they employed that many interns. None of them look old enough to be anything but.

Just as he’s puzzling this out, his thoughts are interrupted by a voice practically purring in his ear, a warm body hovering next to his shoulder. “You look lonely. Want some company?”

Castiel turns to find a stunning young man at his elbow, cheeky smile and eyes a glittering green staring back at him. He’s more casually dressed than Castiel in well-fitting khakis rolled at the ankles and a tailored checkered shirt only buttoned to his sternum, affording Castiel a view of his tanned, golden skin underneath. It is quite a distracting sight.

Castiel swallows, licking his lips. “I wouldn’t mind yours,” he says, mentally wincing at the obvious flirtation as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Dean leans his shoulder against the wall with a little laugh. “Are you new to the company? I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these mixers before.” He reaches a hand out and traces his fingers down the placard of Castiel’s shirt. “I think I’d remember you,” he says with a wink, letting his hand drop.

It leaves Castiel a little hot under the collar, and he finds himself adjusting his neckline. “Not new to the company, but new to these parties. I was… encouraged to attend.” He holds his hand out for a shake, because that’s what you’re supposed to do at work social events, isn’t it? Socialize. Network. “Mingle” as Balthazar is wont to call it. “Castiel Novak.”

“Dean Smith, nice to meet you.” Dean gives him a firm shake, his skin soft under Castiel’s fingers. Castiel has a hard time letting go. “So, what do you do here?” Dean asks, scooting just a touch closer against the wall, just a touch inside Castiel’s personal space. Castiel doesn’t mind.

He explains his job, making sure to be clear about every aspect of it with the view that an intern could never have enough knowledge of the inner workings of advertising. Dean listens with interest, asking intelligent questions, and slipping closer with every answer.

“Which department are you working in?” Castiel asks eventually, realizing that he has been talking about himself for well over half an hour.

Dean laughs and brushes a hand down Castiel’s arm. “Oh, I’m just the entertainment for the night. Speaking of, you haven’t had a drink yet. What can I get you?”

The wording is odd, but Castiel is too distracted by the subject change to notice. He blushes, glancing around in search of his boss before confessing, “I told Roman that I don’t come to these functions because I’m six years sober.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him for a moment before grinning, leaning directly into Castiel’s space to hide a titter of amusement in his shoulder. “Are you telling me you lied to your boss?” he asks, moving back just enough to make eye contact.

Warmth blooms all the way down Castiel’s neck. That laugh is breathtaking. Castiel finds he wants to hear it all the time. “Yes. He can’t see me drinking.”

Dean laughs again, his hand still wrapped over Castiel’s arm. “Let me take care of it. I think I know how to keep you out of trouble. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He squeezes Castiel’s arm as he turns, and then he’s walking away towards the bar. Castiel takes the opportunity to admire his shapely backside in his tight khakis. The cut of his clothing does nothing to hide how well-shaped he is.

When he realizes that he’s staring, he looks up to find Balthazar smirking at him over his companion’s shoulder, eyebrow raised. Castiel looks quickly away.

Dean is back a few minutes later with a glass of what looks like sparkling water. He holds it out for Castiel, a tumbler of something golden in his other hand. “Try that.”

Castiel takes a sip and practically chokes as the warmth—and strength—of premium vodka bubbles over his tongue. “That is… delicious. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean clinks their glasses together with a mischievous little smile and takes a sip of his own drink. “I do what I can.”

Cas opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by his least favorite sound. “Castiel, happy to see you made it to the party. I hope our guest hasn’t tempted you off the wagon already,” Roman says, walking up to them with a martini and a smirk that’s all bite.

“Just sparkling water, sir. Dean was careful,” Castiel answers, holding up his glass of pure vodka as evidence and hoping Roman can’t smell the alcohol.

“Lovely. Dean, is it?” His eyes drift to Dean and give him a once-over that is just on the wrong side of predatory. Dean smiles mildly at him, unfazed. “I’m glad you’re taking care of my favorite ad executive.”

“It’s my pleasure, sir.”

Roman turns his attention back to Castiel. “I hope you both do some mingling. This is a party to get to know your coworkers, after all.” He puts an odd emphasis on the word ‘coworkers’ that Castiel can’t quite parse out, but he nods agreement anyway.

“Of course, sir. The night’s still young,” Dean says with a disarming smile. Castiel is glad he isn’t at the receiving end of it because he would have lost his breath and possibly melted into the floor.

“Good, good. Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He pats Castiel’s shoulder and walks away from them towards anxious head of HR, Chuck Shirley, and Roman’s star programmer, Charlie. Castiel doesn’t envy them his company.

“I take it that’s your boss?” Dean asks, surprising Castiel. He didn’t know it was possible not to recognize the CEO. There's a giant portrait of him in the lobby right next to the elevators.

“You’ve never seen Dick Roman before?”

“No. I’m not into CEOs. I’m more of an ad exec kind of guy.” He tilts his head against the wall, leaning into Castiel with the kind of look that makes Castiel’s heart beat faster.

“Is that so?” He finds himself gravitating closer as well, until they are all but forehead to forehead. He feels a bit hypnotized by Dean’s beauty, the magnetic sparkle of his eyes.

And then something clicks in Castiel’s mind. “Why did Roman call you a guest? Don’t you work for Roman Enterprises?”

Dean frowns, a tiny V appearing between his eyebrows. He hesitates, shifting back a few inches, putting a little distance between them. He takes a sip of his drink as if to fortify himself. “I forgot this is your first party. I’m an escort. A lot of the younger people here are. The company hires us to come in and make sure you all have a good time.”

Castiel doesn’t know how to respond to this information. An escort. Paid to social with him. By Dick Roman, of all people. No wonder he had been so forward. He was being paid to seduce Castiel, loosen him up, making him comfortable. And he was succeeding until just a minute ago. “Oh,” is all he manages to say.

Dean’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.” Castiel can feel those beautiful eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze firmly on his drink. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t come over because I was looking at you as a client. I wanted to talk to you because you’re hot, and you looked like you might be interesting. But if you’re not cool with the whole escort thing, that’s fine. I’ll just…” He indicates the other side of the room with his drink, and a swooping sensation swirls through Castiel’s stomach.

Castiel reaches out to touch Dean’s elbow, hoping to keep him where he is. “No, please don’t go. I… I was surprised, that’s all. I had no idea that was a possibility, but it doesn’t matter to me why you’re here. I enjoy your company.”

Dean pauses, glancing from Castiel’s hand on his arm to his face. “You really don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

Dean nods, his breath leaving his mouth in a soft whoosh of air. “Cool. Good. I uh… I didn’t want to stop talking to you, either.”

“No?” Castiel smiles, warmth blooming in his chest.

“No,” Dean replies, leaning back into him with a new, softer sort of smile.

Despite multiple attempts to get them socializing with others, Castiel spends the rest of the night talking with Dean, the two of them huddled against the wall, and later on a couch where Dean sits close enough to Castiel so that their thighs touch and Castiel drapes an arm around the back of the couch behind Dean, his hand occasionally lifting to brush a stray eyelash off Dean’s cheek or bit of lint off his shoulder. Dean leans into each touch, his smile never wavering.

It’s late by the time they pour into a company car, giggling and a little too drunk. It’s a challenge to stay on opposite sides of the car until they’ve driven far enough away to be assured they won’t be spied by coworkers. Dean is in his personal space within five blocks, seatbelt forgotten as he slides a hand through Castiel’s hair and kisses him. “Am I going home with you tonight?” he asks against Castiel’s lips, voice raspy with desire.

“Do you want to?” Castiel asks, nervous at the prospect. What sort of payment will Dean require? He starts mentally calculating his savings and how easily he might be able to get cash to pay Dean.

“Absolutely. I’ve been fantasizing about getting you undressed since our second drink.” Dean kisses across his cheek to his earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, eliciting a moan for his efforts.

Cas blushes at the sound, embarrassed to be so brazen in the presence of another person, even though he knows drivers are trained to keep their clients’ secrets. Dean’s hand slides into his lap, stroking at the bulge under his zipper with a sure hand. “What do you say?” he asks, right into Castiel’s ear.

“I… Yes, I would like that,” Castiel agrees, not caring how much it might cost. Dean is worth any price he might have to pay. He kisses Dean again, his mouth soft and luscious with just the right amount of bite. Dean makes a tiny pleased sound in the back of his throat and returns the kiss with enthusiasm.

A cough interrupts their making out, and both are alerted that they’ve parked. Castiel looks out the window to spy his apartment complex and turns back to Dean. “Are you sure you want to come up?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Dean says, licking his lips as he looks Castiel up and down. That’s all the invitation Castiel needs. They pile out of the car in a heap of limbs and wandering hands. Castiel pulls away long enough to hand the driver a generous tip through the passenger side window before pulling Dean into the building by the hand and over to the bank of elevators. He has Dean pressed against the back wall as soon as the doors open, but they quickly pull apart and smile apologetically to the Parkers, the elderly couple that live down the hall from Castiel, who enter behind them.

The entire ride up is filled with heated glances and hands bumping and tangling. They aren't subtle about how much they want to rip each other's clothes off, and by the knowing smile aimed at them in the mirrored doors, Mrs. Parker knows exactly how they plan to spend the rest of their evening. Castiel lets the Parkers precede them out of the elevator and leads Dean to his own door behind them by the hand. Dean’s free hand presses hot against his suit jacket at the small of his back as if to encourage him to hurry.

“You boys have fun,” Mrs. Parker tells them with a smirk as she and her husband pass by Castiel’s door in pursuit of their own.

Castiel’s cheeks warm as he fumbles for his keys, Dean close to his back. Lips suck at his earlobe as Dean’s hand snakes around his front to palm at the bulge in his dress slacks. “I can’t stop thinking about your cock. I want to peel that suit off you and spend a nice long time getting to know it with my tongue,” Dean purrs in his ear, nipping at the earlobe as he talks.

Castiel very much wants that. It’s second on the list after getting Dean naked. But the money still weighs on him, distracting him from fully losing himself in Dean’s touch. He gets the key in the lock and swings the door open, unprepared for the quick way Dean shuffles him into the apartment and shoves the door closed. He’s on Castiel the next second, kissing him hard as he shoves the jacket off Castiel’s shoulders and goes to work on the buttons of his shirt. The sound of shoes being kicked off follows.

Panicked, Castiel grabs onto his wrists to still his hands and pulls his mouth away, shaking his head. “Wait, wait, before we get too distracted, I need to know if I can pay you your regular rate. Should we negotiate what is and isn’t acceptable? How does this normally work?”

Dean stares at him with a look of complete bewilderment, panting for breath as he works through Castiel’s words, before understanding overtakes it and he shakes his head. “The only thing I want from you is your cock, Cas. I didn’t come here because I thought I was going to get paid.”

“But I thought you said…” Castiel is the one confused now.

Dean shakes his head. “I was paid by Roman, Inc. to entertain guests at their party, not to go home with anyone. Pretty sure a Fortune 500 company’s not going to pay for sex for their top employees, at least not on the books. And I only get paid on the books.”

Castiel's muscles relax in relief for a second before clenching up again as he realizes he might have just ruined the evening. “Oh.”

Hurt flashes over Dean’s eyes, and he takes a tiny step back. “Were you only into me because I’m an escort?”

Castiel’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head quickly. That is the last thing he wants Dean to think. “No, of course not. I only wanted to make sure I could pay you what you’re owed. I already know you’re worth any price.”

Dean’s eyes soften and he tucks a finger into Castiel’s belt, pulling him close. “All I want is you. And maybe breakfast in the morning.”

Castiel smiles, nudging his nose against Dean’s. “I can do breakfast.”

Dean grins back, leaning in for a peck. He pulls back the next moment with a finger pointing in Castiel's face. “And I’m not talking cereal and orange juice. I’m gonna need some bacon, eggs, toast slathered in butter, maybe some pancakes, the whole nine. I'm high-class, Cas. I need to be wooed.”

Dean’s teasing him now, he can tell from his tone. He nods his agreement and leans the extra few centimeters to press their mouths back together, his hands reaching around Dean’s waist. Dean hums into his mouth and kisses back, his fingers teasing along the inside waist of Cas’ trousers.

Castiel’s hesitation is over, but they still take their time with each other, exploring with hands and tongues before any more clothing comes off. Cas backs them towards the bedroom, kissing along Dean’s neckline to his breastbone and back up the other side, his fingers slipping down the back of Dean’s khakis under his belt. His fingers are met with a soft fabric he doesn’t expect, velvet maybe, with some kind of mesh. Dean makes a tiny whining sound when he strokes his fingers across the fabric and clamps a hand to the back of his neck, squeezing his encouragement.

They make it to the bedroom, Cas barely paying attention to where he’s directing them while he focuses on laving wet, sucking kisses against Dean’s neck, not concerned about whether or not he leaves marks. If Dean objected, Castiel is certain he would say so.

Dean’s making soft, filthy noises every time Cas finds a new bit of skin to nip. Castiel glances up at him to see his eyes shut tight and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He looks like a god of pleasure brought to life. Castiel wants to devour him. But first, clothes.

He unbuttons Dean’s checked shirt down to his navel and tugs it from his khakis to get it off him. Dean kicks into gear as soon as it’s off, eyes sharp on Castiel. He doesn’t let Castiel take another thing off him, instead focusing on getting the white Oxford off Castiel. He unbuckles Cas’ belt next, ripping it through the loops of his trousers with a dramatic snap of his wrist that turns Castiel on so much it borders on painful.

Dean gives him a wicked grin as he pops the button on the dark slacks and pulls down the zipper in one slow, calculated motion. He yanks the trousers to the ground, dropping onto his knees with them, licking his lips as he goes. His hand travels up Cas’ bare thigh to cup the hard outline of Cas’ cock through the thin fabric of his grey boxer-briefs. He looks up at Castiel as he strokes over the soft cotton outline a few times before reaching forward and suckling at the head tucked just under the elastic band until the wet spot of pre-come expands to a wet mess of dark cotton.

Castiel grabs onto the back of Dean’s head to help keep his balance as Dean continues sucking his way down the shaft, inching the elastic of his underwear down with every advance of his sinful mouth. When his erection finally springs free, Dean ignores it in favor of following the elastic down Castiel’s legs, making noises of appreciation as he sucks wet kisses over the expanse of Cas’ thighs, thick with muscle from a life of morning runs and weekend charity races. No one has ever worshiped him the way Dean is, taking his time exploring every inch of Cas' lower half with his mouth and tongue as if Castiel is a book of textures Dean wishes to sample.

He leaves a gentle kiss on each of Cas’ ankles as he peels away the dress socks that encompass them, smiling up at Cas as he traces the subtle pattern of bees embroidered onto them. Cas lifts each foot in kind, watching Dean carefully remove each sock and discard it behind him, along with the boxer-briefs. Kneeling there at Cas’ feet in just his khakis, he is a wet dream come to life. His body is as well-formed as the outline of it under his shirt had hinted. His bare shoulders and chest are sun-kissed and dappled in the finest layer of freckles. Castiel’s mouth waters with the prospect of getting to connect the constellations of them with his tongue, but Dean has other priorities.

He reaches up to wrap his fist around Cas’ shaft, stroking up and down a few times, watching the foreskin slide up and down with hungry eyes. He teases a finger inside the hood, scooping it around Cas’ head and sending a shiver down his spine. “Fuck…” Cas mutters, dropping a hand onto Dean’s shoulder to keep himself steady.

Dean licks his lips, smirking up at Cas through his lashes. “You like that, baby? I bet you’ll like this better.” He moves closer, pushing Cas’ foreskin down to expose the head and flicking his tongue over the tip. He licks the entire head, little kitten licks that flicker pleasure like a light bulb about to short out. Castiel quickly loses all sense of reality, overcome by the sensation.

Dean’s skin is soft under his hand, and he starts caressing fingertips up Dean's neckline as Dean trails kisses up and down his shaft, stroking languidly as he does. Cas traces along his ear, smiling as Dean shivers and pulls away a little with a twitch of his head. “Ticklish?”

“Fuck off,” Dean murmurs good-naturedly, leaning back in to suck at his foreskin, flicking his tongue in the folds until Cas forgets all about Dean’s ticklish spots and groans.

“Oh god, that mouth. There should be temples built to worship your mouth.”

“I believe that can be arranged,” Dean teases, stroking Cas hard and fast for a few moments before returning to his slow, gentle movements. “Your cock is so pretty. I could do this for hours.”

Cas returns to tracing his ear, compelled to touch him wherever he can reach. “While I would love nothing more than to let you, I believe you are still wearing far too many clothes.”

“You wanna see what I've got hidden under these pants, baby?" Dean grins up at him, shifting onto his knees and wiggling his ass a little. "We could do that, too. But only if you promise to fuck me with this beauty,” Dean says, stroking the shaft with one hand as he reaches up to play with Cas’ pre-come with his other.

“I believe that can be arranged,” Cas teases back at him. Dean climbs back to his feet sucking the pre-come off his fingers, smiling around their width. When he’s upright again, Cas pulls him close again and kisses him soundly, wrapping arms around him and sliding hands back down the back of his khakis to get another feel of the velvety soft fabric underneath. He makes a questioning noise against Dean’s mouth, curious to know what kind of underwear he’s playing with.

Dean pulls away blushing, eyes down as he unbuttons and unzips his pants. “I uh… I like to wear nice underwear when I need a confidence boost. I didn’t think anyone would see them.” He drops the pants down, leaning over in a long line of muscle to pull them from his feet. Underneath are a pair of black… they would be boxer-briefs if they weren’t made entirely of tulle and decorated in flowers made of velvet. Dean’s skin is tan under them, no visible tan lines to be seen. Cas can’t help but reach out to touch them, a feeling of awe settling in his chest.

“You are breathtaking,” he manages to say, stroking fingers along the pattern of velvet. Dean’s blush deepens, but he doesn’t pull away when Cas tries to reel him back in. They kiss again, mouths hungry and urgent in a way they haven’t been since entering the apartment. The slow part of the evening is over. Cas reaches down and lifts Dean up into his arms and drags him to the bed, determined to get the pretty briefs off him so he can spend the rest of his evening worshiping him. Dean giggles when he’s dropped onto his back on the bed, bouncing a few inches even as he reaches up to pull Cas down on top of him.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Dean appears in the kitchen doorway in just Castiel’s button-down, half buttoned, bleary-eyed and hair a tornado of pillow dents. He’s still the prettiest man Cas has ever seen in person. “There you are,” he murmurs, walking over to Castiel and flattening himself against Cas’ back, burying his face in the back of Cas’ neck. “The bed was cold.”

“I promised you breakfast,” Cas reminds him, holding up a piece of crispy bacon over his shoulder for Dean to crunch on. Dean lifts his face long enough to bite off half before burying it back in Cas’ neck. “You more than earned it after the orgasm you gave me last night.”

“Orgasms,” Dean corrects, smiling against his skin. “I could make it three if you want,” he says, his wicked hands traveling around Cas’ flanks to his stomach and venturing south. Cas has to hit them away with a spatula.

“If you start that now, I’ll end up setting the kitchen on fire.”

“Worth it,” Dean mumbles, but he obeys the order. He doesn’t move away, not until he sniffs the air and zeroes in on the fresh pot of coffee. Castiel enjoys the cuddle and misses it when Dean wanders away to find a mug.

Cas glances at him from over his shoulder, watching him poke around Castiel's kitchen as though he's always belonged there. It soothes a loneliness deep in his chest that he hadn't even realized was there. “What would you think about making this a weekend thing?”

Dean leans his barely covered ass against the counter and sips his coffee, shoulders slumping with a little content sigh at his first sip. “We could make it an all-week thing," he says, glancing up at Cas through his lashes.

“Oh?” Castiel asks, his heart beat speeding up at the implication.

“If you want.”

Castiel slides the spatula onto the counter and walks the two steps to Dean, pulling him in by the waist to kiss him softly. “I want.”

Dean smiles, nudging his nose against Cas’. “Me, too.”

They do end up setting the smoke detector off, but neither much minds.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: Dean refers to himself as Dean Smith to keep his identity private, not because he's the Sandover AU version of himself. He's still Dean Winchester, just a high-class escort version of himself.
> 
> Thank Hartless for Dean's panties, seen [here](https://nickfolio.tumblr.com/post/170885571435/j%C3%A9r%C3%A9my-douill%C3%A9-for-lhomme-invisible).
> 
> * * *
> 
> If you want writing updates from me, you can follow me on Twitter [@RonsPigwidgeon](https://twitter.com/RonsPigwidgeon) or Tumblr at [MsCaptainWinchester](https://mscaptainwinchester.tumblr.com/).


End file.
